


A Room of One's Own

by potatototer



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, sadly this is not twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26785324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potatototer/pseuds/potatototer
Summary: “You gotta stop jerking off to me,” Osamu told him in November.“I’m not jerking off to you,” Atsumu scoffed. “I’m jerking offin spiteof you.”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 28
Kudos: 167





	A Room of One's Own

In March of their first year at Inarizaki, Osamu brought home a girl. Atsumu should not have been there, but he was. And he should not have stayed, but he did. It was just what Atsumu did: stick around and make everyone regret it. Of course he fell out of the bedroom closet that he shared with Osamu; and of course he didn’t have time to pull up his pants beforehand. Osamu never saw the girl again.

In October of their second year, Osamu brought home Suna Rintaro. Atsumu knew that because they, all three of them, rode the subway back to the Miya household after practice. “Suna, are you going to let my brother put it up your ass?” Atsumu asked, urgently. “Because I think I could do it better.” It was an offer made in martyrdom, made in the selfless spirit of a setter – Atsumu didn’t particularly want to do anything with Suna Rintaro, who couldn’t even be bothered to sneer at him when he screwed up a serve – but Atsumu got his nose broken for it anyway.

So Osamu kept seeing Suna Rintaro. And Atsumu, on the living room couch with his hand down his pants, kept the TV volume high.

“You gotta stop jerking off to me,” Osamu told him in November. 

“I’m not jerking off to you,” Atsumu scoffed. “I’m jerking off _in spite_ of you.”

Osamu dropped a towel on the couch before settling down gingerly next to him. The tape of their last Interhigh game was on, as it had been every day since August. “So you’re jerking off to Itachiyama whupping our asses,” Osamu said. “Who is it? Komori?”

Atsumu gagged. “No.”

Osamu eyed him and Atsumu tried not to squirm. “Okay, you’re joking.”

“What?”

“Sakusa? You get off to Sakusa Kiyoomi?”

“Have you seen him?”

“Yes,” Osamu said, dripping with distaste. “That’s what I mean. Well, whatever. It’s your loss.”

It was, too. The Sakusa on-screen shot the ball straight through Atsumu’s arms and the buzzer went off. For a split second, Atsumu could see his own face sharing the screen with Sakusa’s. Could see himself point across the net and say, though the audio didn’t pick it up, _One day, I’m going to set for you._

Could see Sakusa raise one dark eyebrow. And even without audio could hear him say, _I don’t really care._

“That’s pretty pathetic,” said Osamu, and went back to his bedroom where Suna Rintaro was.

In August of their third year, Osamu brought home the black-haired setter from Fukurodani who looked a lot like Suna Rintaro if Suna Rintaro didn’t wear so much eyeliner. Atsumu didn’t actually know this happened until much later because at that time he was in Kita Shinsuke’s bedroom, tied up (very properly) and gagged (very properly) and getting railed (very properly). Afterwards Kita had washed his hands with soap and asked Atsumu if he’d eaten. Atsumu hadn’t, and he was also very much in love with Kita, so he had stayed for as long as he possibly could, which was why by the time he got home the setter from Fukurodani had long gone and Atsumu was none the wiser.

“You don’t look happy,” Atsumu said, because he was himself completely sated and totally at peace with the world. He gave Osamu, who was single and forlorn, a pat on the head as he walked by. “Don’t worry. Things get better, you know?”

In April after their graduation, Osamu and Suna got back together and Kita moved to take over his uncle’s rice farm. “Don’t worry,” said Osamu, smirking. “Things get better.” Atsumu didn’t do a lot of thinking that summer. He had already made it onto the MSBY Black Jackals and it was silly for a professional volleyball player to have entertained thoughts at all about his silly former high school volleyball captain, even if that volleyball captain was quiet and thoughtful and had a very pretty dick. Atsumu had better things to do, namely getting drunk and crying in the club with Bokuto Koutarou.

“It’s amazing you feel this upset over someone who wasn’t even dating you,” Bokuto said between sniffs. Atsumu knew it was meant as a compliment, so he patted Bokuto on the shoulder. “It makes you a very big-hearted loser, you know?” Bokuto added, and broke down in tears again. 

Atsumu didn’t mind. He knew his spikers inside-out, not that you had to be particularly attentive to know that Bokuto was very earnest, very well-intentioned, and totally in shambles that his long-time on-and-off boyfriend Akaashi Keiji was off again. “You, too,” Atsumu replied kindly, and Bokuto cried even harder.

Osamu helped Atsumu home that night. Osamu looked tired and smelled like rice vinegar but he humored Atsumu anyway. “Akaashi Keiji?” Osamu echoed. “What about him?”

“So we do know him,” Atsumu mused. “How do we know him?”

“What _about_ him, ‘Tsumu?”

“I dunno, ‘Samu!”

“He’s Bokuto’s setter,” Osamu began.

“ _I’m_ Bokuto’s setter,” Atsumu said, affronted. Then Osamu told him what had happened in August of their third year. He was a good narrator. “Well, that’s never leaving this house,” Atsumu said, threw up, and went to bed. 

He dreamed that night about slipping up and telling Bokuto about Osamu and Akaashi. The depth of dream-Bokuto’s misery was enough to, in the morning, put Atsumu out of his grief completely. Kita, who?

In December they all went to go watch the intercollegiate nationals. On one side of Atsumu was Bokuto, in deliriously high spirits because on the other side of _him_ was Akaashi Keiji, boyfriend once again, holding Bokuto’s hand and studiously avoiding eye contact with Osamu. Suna was there, too, and privately Atsumu was cheered that Suna had done his winged eyeliner even more aggressively than usual. It was shaping up to be a remarkably pleasant evening when Osamu tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Hey, it’s that Itachiyama kid.”

“Sakusa?” Atsumu said but no one heard him because Bokuto had answered at the same time.

Osamu looked at Atsumu. “Didn’t you have a crush on him?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Atsumu, because what the fuck? Why would Osamu bring up something so mortifying? But no one heard him because Bokuto had said at the same time, “ _Really?_ Let’s go say hi! You know I think he goes for people like you.” 

“What’s that?” asked Atsumu.

“Man,” said Bokuto.

Sakusa Kiyoomi was watching the matches because it was the first day of the tournament and his team was seeded. Of course his team was seeded. For no reason that Atsumu could tell, Sakusa had never been anything but magnificent as an athlete and as a teammate. It didn’t make sense that Sakusa was always voted the MVP when Atsumu was the PinA (Pain in the Ass) and the TL (Team Liability) and the RoaP (Root of All Problems). Sakusa didn’t even _do_ anything – he just _had_ wrists.

Bokuto was holding those wrists in his hands, bending them back and forth. Above the mask, Sakusa looked entirely bemused. “Like a snake!” Bokuto declared, and offered one to Atsumu. “Here. You’ve met, right?”

“No,” said Atsumu, unsure if he was referring to the wrists or Sakusa.

“Yes,” said Sakusa. His eyebrows knit together. “You screamed at me across a net.”

“What? No,” said Atsumu.

“You did. After you lost to us in the semifinals. Twenty-five to twenty-three. Your banzai block.”

“I think you’re a _horrible person_ ,” said Atsumu, in case the conversation was going to continue.

Sakusa shrugged and took his wrists back. “They were wonderful, thank you,” said Bokuto. 

“And I think your tracksuit is ugly,” Atsumu added, still wounded. “Not that you wear anything else. Do you ever take it off?”

He planned to flounce off with that clever roast, but Sakusa was staring at him like he meant to answer. Atsumu watched his frown deepen further. Then Sakusa blinked. “I think I understand what you’re asking. Yes, I do,” and that was how Atsumu, a little dazedly, ended up going home with Sakusa Kiyoomi, the boy from Itachiyama with whom Atsumu first learned the contours of his own desires.

“Don’t touch me there,” Sakusa snapped.

Atsumu had just managed to get Sakusa out of his tracksuit pants. Sakusa was so pale and hairless he could see the blue veins mapping across his body like alien pathways. He looked at the hand he had wrapped around Sakusa’s dick, thumb pressed lightly against the slit. “Your dick?”

“What else?” Sakusa said.

“Um, okay,” said Atsumu, who had kind of been hoping he would get to suck it. He had no idea why Sakusa Kiyoomi had willingly brought him home with him but he wanted badly to convince him it had been a good decision. “Should I touch you somewhere else?”

Sex with Sakusa was logistics that Atsumu didn’t really understand but eventually he got his dick between Sakusa’s thighs and it was pretty nice even with his hands clasped in holy prayer most of the time. Sakusa looked like a corpse, especially when he came, with his lips just barely parted in a ghost of sigh and his eyes fluttering shut. “Are you cold?” Atsumu had asked several times, because they weren’t really touching apart from the dick-thigh thing. “No,” Sakusa had answered each time, and said nothing else, which was a little awkward because Atsumu was asking because he himself was getting a little chilly.

“Do you want to cuddle?” Atsumu offered afterwards. Would it make up for the _I think you’re horrible_ thing? He had been told he was a good cuddler.

“Not really,” said Sakusa. 

“That’s totally fine,” said Atsumu.

After a moment Sakusa gave a deep sigh and turned on his side towards Atsumu, sliding one arm tentatively across Atsumu’s waist. His eyes were still closed and his hair was tossed messily across his face. Testing the waters, Atsumu pet his hair a little bit. Sakusa only sank deeper into the pillows. He looked tired. 

Atsumu recoiled with a start. “Don’t you have to play tomorrow?”

Sakusa opened his eyes and glared at him. 

It made sense that Sakusa Kiyoomi would be self-destructive and horny. “I’m going home,” Atsumu decided. “I think you should get a good night’s sleep.”

“Fine,” said Sakusa. Then, when Atsumu had gathered all his stuff and was opening the door to leave, Sakusa said, “Your name was on the Black Jackals roster.”

“Uhh,” said Atsumu, who’d been an active player on the Black Jackals for nearly a year. 

“I’m joining practices in January,” said Sakusa. “They made the offer a few days ago. You were right.”

Atsumu opened his mouth and closed it several times. Finally, he bit. “About?”

“You’ll set for me,” said Sakusa.

Atsumu went home that night muttering under his breath like a crazy person. He closed the front door loudly when he got in and saw Osamu and Suna look up from the couch. “How’d it go?” Osamu asked, mildly.

“Do you know if Sakusa ever had sex with his teammates from Itachiyama?” Atsumu demanded.

“Are you kidding? Definitely,” Suna drawled.

“I doubt it,” said Osamu, and gave Suna a look.

Atsumu squinted. “Well, I think it’s a thing. He’s joining the Black Jackals. He just wanted to get me out of his system. Do you think Bokuto’s next? Meian’s married and Inunaki’s ugly and –”

“Probably not,” said Suna.

“No,” said Osamu. Then he rolled his eyes. “Just be nice, Atsumu.”

On February twelfth of the next year Osamu brought home just about everyone they’d ever known. “Who’s that?” Atsumu asked. That was Kuroo Tetsurou, apparently, though how Osamu knew anybody from Nekoma was beyond him. “Who’s that?” Atsumu asked. That was Tanaka Ryunosuke, which Osamu knew Atsumu knew perfectly well, but to acknowledge that one did in fact know Tanaka Ryunosuke was simply not done. “Who’s that?” Atsumu asked and finally Osamu snapped. “He was _on our team_.”

Granted, there were people there that Atsumu did know and did care to acknowledge. One was Kita Shinsuke, but that was okay. He was in the kitchen helping Osamu cook and Atsumu looked over only to give him a lopsided grin and a wave. Two of them were sitting at the island counter making eyes at each other, which was deeply unsettling, because they were Suna Rintaro and Akaashi Keiji. Another two were several feet higher off the ground than they really ought to be, but it was nothing Atsumu was willing to be concerned about because they were Bokuto Kotarou and Hinata Shouyou. 

“No, they need to get down,” said Sakusa Kiyoomi, who was also there, and long-suffering as usual. 

“If they fall I’ll have to set to you all the time,” Atsumu said, raising an eyebrow.

Sakusa was noticeably quiet at that. Atsumu grinned. It was the Lunar New Year, and nobody was going to be bothered to look for them if they happened to vanish. He said as much to Sakusa, who stayed quiet, but looked up at Atsumu through his lashes in a half-intrigued way, so Atsumu took them back to his bedroom. “Can I suck your dick?” he asked, because he was genuinely curious. Sakusa took a long time to answer, as was usual. But when he did it was, “I don’t really care,” which finally Atsumu was beginning to understand the meaning of. Unfortunately, that was when the door opened and Osamu in the doorway learned exactly what it was about Sakusa Kiyoomi that kept Atsumu going back for more.

Sakusa looked at Atsumu. “You mean you still share a room with your brother?”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! kudos go towards helping atsumu finally move out of osamu's apartment <3


End file.
